


Today's Inspirational Message

by dettiot



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 16:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One version of Logan's summer.  Set post 1x22.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**June 4**   
_You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Undeservedly you will atone for the sins of your fathers.  
Horace_

There wasn't enough liquor in the world to blot out the facts. There weren't enough punches in Weevil's fists to hide the truth: his father had killed Lilly. Had been sleeping with her, taping their little romps. 

Logan wasn't quite sure how he wound up in his bed, rather than in the morgue. He seemed to remember Weevil showing up and beating the crap out of him, before some cops had come along. But did the cops take him home? Was it Weevil who told him about his dad? He couldn't remember. Some days, he couldn't even remember if he was alive. Now, though, he knew he was still in the land of the living. He knew that he was still alive because the pain slicing through him, thanks to the lack of booze in his system, meant that he was still sucking air. 

"Yippee-ki-ya-fucking-yay," he muttered, flailing around for a bottle, any bottle, as long as it still had alcohol in it. Anything to block out the thoughts circling inside his head. Like how could he have missed the small fact of Lilly exploring Neptune's class differences in the bedroom. Like how he hadn't figured out that his father had killed Lilly. Like how that streak of violence in the men in his family, from father to son, and whether that meant he was cursed, too. Like how he'd spent his whole life trying to escape from his father's shadow, and just when he thought he had found the way out, he got dragged down into complete darkness. 

**June 9**   
_You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.  
Alexander Pope_

"Yo, Duncan!" Logan shouted at the darkened windows of the Kane house. "Come on, you're my best friend. You dick, come out here and see me!"

Who cared that it was one in the morning? Logan wanted to talk to Duncan. He took a swig from the bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand.

The front door of the house swung open, and Logan smiled widely at the sight of Celeste Kane. "Well, hi, Mrs. Kane! I know you're trying to sue my family for everything we own, but can Duncan come out to play?"

She took a step forward, and looked down at him. It was a major accomplishment, since even in heels she was still two inches shorter than he was. "My husband and I have decided that it would be best if we did not have any dealings with the Echolls family."

"For Christ's sake . . ." he muttered. "Gotta be careful, I guess," he said, looking at her and trying not to slur his words too much. "Never know what I might influence Duncan to do. He could become a drunk, like me. Or a murderer, like my father. Too bad I don't have a sister for him to sleep with . . ."

The slap of her hand across his face was so unexpected, he found himself sitting on the ground at her feet. He shook his head and looked up at her. 

"You are hell-bent on destruction, but I will *not* let you take my son with you. It's bad enough what happened to Lilly . . ." 

Logan could see the tears glistening in her eyes, even in the little light that came from the open doorway. He rolled over, and managed to get to his feet. He took another drink, then turned around to face Mrs. Kane. 

"Don't act like you're mourning Lilly. Now, if Duncan had died, yeah, I'd believe it. But I know how it was for Lilly in this house. Damn hypocrite, that's what you are. But I'm the bad influence . . ."

He turned around, not caring what her reaction might be. He weaved his way back to his house, finishing the bottle of Jack as he went. He took great satisfaction in leaving the bottle in the middle of the Kanes' lawn. 

**June 17**   
_You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly.  
Langston Hughes_

"Oh, Logan," Veronica said, running her thumb over his face. "I don't know if you'll ever know how sorry I am."

"Veronica--" he said, stopping to kiss her. "I've missed you so much. God, you're the only good thing in my life."

He closed his eyes as she pushed him back on his bed, pressing light kisses across his face. Her small body was draped across his, and he rubbed his thumbs in circles on her hips. Her mouth met his, and he kissed her like she was water, oxygen, or some other vital ingredient to life. God knows that she was vital for him.

"Logan . . ." she moaned, a sound that went straight through him and made him hard. "God, I love you."

He felt his brain stutter and stop, as his body surged up, rolling her over and kissing her even more desperately. "I love you, I love you, I love you . . ." he muttered against her mouth. 

"Awww, how sweet!"

He jerked up and looked over his shoulder, as Veronica kept running her hands over his shoulders and wiggling underneath him. "Lilly?" he asked in disbelief.

"In the flesh . . . well, not exactly," she said, a saucy grin on her face. "This is pretty hot to watch, I have to say."

"Lilly . . ." he said, not sure what to do. 

"Hey, it's okay, Logan." Her grin faded, and a softer, more vulnerable expression came over her face. "You need someone. And Veronica needs someone too." She smiled enigmatically at him. "I'm going to be really happy for the two of you, when this really happens."

"What? What do you mean, Lilly?" he said, pulling away from Veronica and turning towards his dead girlfriend.

But she wasn't there anymore, and when he looked down at his bed, he felt his heart stop at what greeted him. Veronica, sprawled across his bed. Wearing her old pep squad uniform, blood caked in her hair, her eyes wide and sightless.

"Oh, God," he said, reaching for Veronica. But as his hands touched her, she disappeared, right in front of him. 

**June 27**   
_You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: You must do the things you think you cannot do.  
Eleanor Roosevelt_

"All right, Echolls, get your ass out of that excuse for a bed."

"Wha-huh?" he muttered, not opening his eyes. "That sounds like Weevil . . . why the hell would I hallucinate him?"

Suddenly, he found himself on the floor, squinting up at the man in question. He shook his head. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Weevil shrugged. "A little bird or two talked to me, said you needed to get the crap kicked out of you."

"And here I thought there were more people than that who wanted my ass kicked," he said, looking around for the bottle he'd taken to bed.

"It's all gone, kid," Weevil said. "You've just entered the Navarro Alcohol Rehabilitation Clinic, where the only treatment course is cold turkey."

Logan blinked, then laughed as loudly as he could without destroying more of his higher brain functions. "And you think I'm going to go through with that?"

"Doesn't matter to me whether you do it or not, but it does to the people who got me involved. So you might want to reconsider."

Logan rubbed a hand over his face. "All right, I'm confused."

"Wouldn't think it takes much with you right now."

"Shut up," he said, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Someone told you to sober me up."

Weevil nodded. "Couple of benefactors have stepped forward. So, you gonna step up, or are you gonna make me go disappoint people who, for some strange reason, care about you?"

He sighed heavily. It seemed like some kind of sick joke: who cared about him? But then, why would Weevil be here, and not punching him? His head was pounding, his hands were shaking, and he couldn't think. He groaned. "If I say yes, will you go away and leave me alone? Or, even better, get me some aspirin and then go away?"

He fell back on the bed, not even hearing Weevil's response. It didn't matter, really. He wouldn't be there when Logan woke up--it had to be some weird symptom of sobering up.

**July 4**   
_You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Nothing in life is to be feared. It is only to be understood.  
Marie Curie_

"All right, Echolls. Time to leave the cave."

"Fuck off."

"And happy Independence Day to you. And in honor of this momentous holiday, you're going out. Celebrating your week of sobriety."

"You asshole, I'm not sober . . . I've drunk so much that I'm going to be wasted for months--years, even."

"Ha, ha," Weevil said. "Go shower, and I might tell you who's going to be joining the festivities tonight."

Logan groaned but pulled himself out of bed. It was easier with Weevil to just do it and then think about how he'd kick the shit out of the annoying spic when he got the chance.

He groaned again as the hot water coursed over him. He'd almost forgotten what a shower felt like . . . personal hygiene wasn't high on your list of priorities when drinking yourself into a stupor. Now, though, he felt as clean as a whistle. Showers helped with the withdrawal. 

Not drinking was easily the hardest thing he'd ever done. He couldn't quite remember when he had his first drink . . . he had memories of taking sips from his mom's glass and being surprised at the funny taste. By the time he was twelve, he drank regularly. Alcohol provided oblivion from anything that made him hurt: the beatings, the neglect, the deaths, the betrayal.

Children are fearful. You're scared of the monster in the closet or under your bed. You're scared of thunderstorms, of earthquakes. You're scared that your best friend is going to move away, you're scared that your parents are going to get divorced, you're scared that your grandma is going to die. And then there are the fears that haunt a few children, like the belts that hang in your father's closet. 

Logan had found that his fears were best confronted with a smirk and a high blood alcohol level. He knew why he did the things he did, acted the way he did. But he couldn't tell the world at large, "I'm a psychotic asshole because my dad uses me as a punching bag!" He'd rather be the psychotic asshole. At least things would be on his terms then. 

He stretched his arms out in front of him, placing his palms on the wall under the showerhead. The hot water sprayed over him, and he wondered if perhaps his terms should change. 

"Echolls! Get your ass in gear."

Weevil's voice was muffled through the bathroom door, but it was loud enough to jerk him out of the fog. With a shake, he turned off the shower and got dressed. When he walked out of the bathroom, he drew up short when he saw his best friend sitting with Weevil.

"So, I guess your mom doesn't know you're here?" He didn't know where that came from; it was the only thing he could think to say.

Duncan shrugged his shoulders. "Don't really care, in fact. Had bigger things to worry about."

Logan slid his hands into his pockets, trying to hide the way they clenched. But he found himself sitting in the chair, and talking to Duncan, and insulting Weevil, and watching a ball game on TV, and only freaking out once, at the thought of going out in public to see the firework display. So they found themselves watching the fireworks on TV instead. 

**July 9**   
_You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Think wrongly, if you please, but in all cases think for yourself.  
Doris Lessing_

"Hey, man."

Logan slid into a booth across from Duncan. He kept his shades on, the light way too bright inside the grungy diner. "Hey. Sorry about the Fourth. Couldn't deal with leaving or anything, really."

Duncan waved off the apology. "Not a problem. I get sick of the rah-rah, yay America stuff, myself."

"Never gonna be president with that attitude, Mr. Kane," Logan said, waving over the waitress and ordering some coffee. Duncan seconded the order, and within a few moments, they had large cups of French roast to wrap their hands around.

Silence fell between them, and he found himself saying, "So why'd you do this?"

Duncan raised an eyebrow, and Logan elaborated. "You know, making me your project."

"You're not a project--you're my best friend." Duncan's words were quiet but emphatic.

"You should let your mom in on that tidbit--she's forgotten all about the years I spent more time at your house than at mine," he said, smirking at Duncan and taking a long sip of coffee. "Not to mention the fact that your father wants to destroy the whole Echolls clan."

"Jesus, Logan. It's not like we're the Hatfields and the McCoys--our families don't have a blood feud."

"Wait!" Logan held a hand up to his ear. "Is that 'Dueling Banjos' I hear?"

Duncan shook his head. "You're annoying as hell, Logan. But it's not going to work on me." His gaze was steady when he looked up at Logan. "It doesn't matter what my parents say or do. I figure it's time I stood by you."

Logan stared into his coffee cup. "I thought it was you . . ." Duncan looked confused. "Right before the shit went down with my dad, I was talking with . . . well, I couldn't help wondering if maybe you had . . ." His voice trailed off. 

"Me, too," Duncan said. 

Logan sat back in the booth. "So I guess we're good, huh?"

"Yeah, we're good," Duncan said. 

Logan nodded, feeling a bit surprised. Duncan had never really disagreed with his parents. Hell, he had even broken up with . . . girls when his parents disapproved of them. So he wasn't quite sure where this new resolute Duncan came from, but he hoped he stayed around for a while. He'd missed his best friend. 

**July 13**   
_You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Hide not your Talents; they for use were made. What's a Sundial in the Shade?  
Benjamin Franklin_

"What you working on, little brother?"

Logan dropped his pen and turned over the page he had been writing on. "Nothing, Trina. What are you doing here?"

"Gotta check up on you, make sure you haven't done anything stupid."

"Then you're a little late then." He sat back, looking up at his half-sister. She'd been named his guardian earlier in the summer, an event he didn't really remember. Trina was actually working on some sitcom, so she was in L.A. most of the time. "How's work?"

"Oh, it's good." She paused, then drew out a chair and sat down across from him. "What would you think about moving down to L.A. with me?"

"What?" Logan leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. "Wouldn't I crimp your style too much? Get in the way of the wild parties and drunken debauchery?"

"I just thought you might like to get out of Neptune before the shit really hits the fan. Plus, you'd have a blast in L.A. Excuse me for wanting you to have fun," she said, pouting in her chair. 

"Well, I'm sure your heart was in the right place--" He paused, and put on his best quizzical expression. "If you don't have a heart, I wonder if it can be in the right place?" Trina glared at him, and he shook his head. "Thanks, but no thanks, Trina." Logan stood up and walked over towards the window, looking outside. "You know that going to L.A. would be like moving from a fishbowl to a shark tank. Especially once the trial gets started--"

"He's innocent until proven guilty, Logan."

"Oh, come off it, Trina," he said, whirling around to face her. "We both know that Daddy Dearest is gonna fry for this. Denying it won't change things--or let you get your hands on his money." 

He turned back to look out the window, angry yet resigned. L.A. was the last place he wanted to go. And although Trina hadn't realized that he wasn't falling down drunk anymore, hanging out with Trina's crowd would be too big a temptation. He didn't feel the urge to crash the wagon just yet.

He hadn't realized how long he'd been staring out at the sunshine-splashed lawn, until he finally turned around and saw Trina reading his papers.

"What the hell, Trina?" he said, stomping over her and grabbing them away from her. 

"Logan--" He ignored her, folding up the papers and stuffing them in his pocket. "Logan, come on, I only read a little."

"Why you'd read any of it?" he asked angrily. He didn't quite know why he felt so . . . vulnerable.

"I couldn't help myself. But Logan, you don't have anything to be embarrassed about?"

"Who says I'm embarrassed?" he said, slumping down on a couch near the table. 

Trina got up and joined him. "Because you want to know if it's good, and you don't want to ask, and you hate that I saw it."

He didn't answer her, only shrugged his shoulders. 

"Hey, Logan?" 

He looked over at his sister. "Yeah?"

She smiled at him. "It's good."

He couldn't help the small grin that broke out on his face, before he ducked his head. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, nodding her head a few times. "I wish the scripts I got were that good. Hey, maybe you should write a screenplay! I've got tons of friends who'd be all over this--we could make it as an indie, enter it at Sundance . . ."

He couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of him. "Sorry, Trina, I don't think that'll be happening any time soon. But you'll be the first person to hear about any screenplays I write."

"You say that now, but then I'll pick up Variety and find out that you've gotten Katie Holmes for the lead," she said, giving him a pat on the top of his head as she got up. "See you later."

"As if I'd take Tom Cruise's girl-toy," he sniped back, watching her walk out the door. 

End, Part One


	2. Chapter 2

**July 17**   
_You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm.  
Colette_

In retrospect, it was fitting that their meeting was so anticlimactic. He had been going into the diner, keeping his head down and just thinking about coffee and hash browns. He moved through the narrow entryway, ducking around the jukebox, only to bump into someone. He looked up, and suddenly there wasn't enough air, because he nearly gasped.

Veronica seemed pretty surprised to see him, too. Her mouth had dropped open, then she quickly closed it and took a step back from him.

That step back changed things. She had looked vulnerable, concerned. But that little move away from him made her chin go up, her shoulders stiffen. And Logan hated seeing that, and he hated that it bothered him. 

"Well, well, well. Veronica Mars, Girl Detective."

"Logan." Her voice didn't give anything away, and that pissed him off even more.

"So, how's your summer been, V? Solve any cases? Turn in any boyfriends to the police? But then, I bet you've been busy with Duncan, picking up your big storybook romance right where you left off." He leaned against the wall, not caring about the people who stepped around them as they talked. He crossed his arms across his chest, knowing that he looked defensive and not caring about it.

Veronica sighed. "Duncan and I aren't together."

"Oh, that's good. Hate for my best friend to get accused of something he didn't do, based on circumstantial evidence. That's a tough one to bounce back from."

"What do you want me to say, Logan?" she asked, her voice tired. "I could apologize, but you could care less about that. I can't change what I did, and even if I could, I wouldn't, because otherwise, Lilly's killer would still be free."

"My dad, you mean," he said, moving towards her and blocking her against the wall. "I guess I just want you to say . . ." He trailed off, looking over her head for a moment. He didn't know what he wanted from Veronica. It had been easier not to think about her this summer, easier to focus on things that were more clear-cut, like reaching the bottom of as many bottles as he could. 

"What, Logan?" 

His eyes snapped onto hers, and suddenly he was talking. "Duncan got Weevil to annoy me into getting sober. Wasn't exactly the twelve steps, but still, it's kinda worked. Which is a good thing, because I don't think I'd have gotten past step nine, the whole making amends stage, because it would have meant seeing you. Talking to you, and knowing what you did and how it'll always be between us." He paused, and took a step back, then another. "Not that there was ever really an us."

She didn't say anything; it was like she had turned into a statue. And that pissed him off too. Veronica didn't take anything from anyone. She didn't look like a deer in the headlights. She argued, and fought, and gave people crap. 

So he bent down and kissed her. It was tense, with rigid lips and no softness. After only a moment, she pushed him away. Her mouth began moving, probably spewing insults, but he didn't even really hear what she said. Instead, he just waited for her to take a breath and then he smirked at her. "There she is. Was wondering what had happened to you, V."

He turned around and left, before she punched him or he started shaking. Suddenly, it seemed like there must be a bottle somewhere with his name on it.

**July 22**   
_You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Be careful, lest in banishing your demons, you banish the best thing within you.  
Nietzsche_

He stared into the mirror. He was in his mom's closet, standing in front of the three-way mirrors, looking at his back. Had to give Dad some credit: he'd discovered a way to inflict pain without leaving many scars. For all the punches and the beatings, there were only a few silvery-white lines on his back. A few of his fingers ached on chilly mornings, and whenever he had a cold, his nose became useless. But that's what happens when bones heal a little bit off.

Ever since he had seen Veronica, he had drawn back, trying to ignore the passage of time. He had gotten drunk that night, and woken up the next day with the worst hangover in the world. After that, he didn't touch the stuff again. He didn't go anywhere. Wouldn't see Weevil or Duncan. Ate lots of takeout, worked at beating all his video games. Started smoking, so he wouldn't give in and start drinking. He felt numb, like he was wrapped up in cotton, like a butterfly in a box. 

He turned away, picking up his shirt. He walked downstairs, slumping down on the couch and staring up at the mantle. It was full of glass: his father's People's Choice Awards, an American Move Award, and his mother's urn. 

Things were changing for him. Who exactly was Logan Echolls anymore? Ever since that moment in the police station, when that prick Lamb had spilled the beans about Veronica, he had wondered. He couldn't say he was Veronica's boyfriend. He didn't want to be Aaron Echolls' son. He was barely Duncan's friend. 

He had thought the time after Lilly's death was bad. The sudden change--knowing that he'd never be Lilly's boyfriend ever again--threw him completely. It hurt. And that hurt got channeled into being an asshole, making it easy for people to leave him on his terms. But he'd forgotten why he'd become Logan the Jackass, and that's why he was here now.

Because when you started caring--when you tried to hold on--people passed right through your fingers. 

Logan got up and headed around the table to the hall. With four casual flicks of his hand, the mantle was swept clean and glass littered the floor. He felt something stab his bare foot, but he ignored it and just went up to his room to sleep. 

**July 31**   
_You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Life is change. Growth is optional. Choose wisely.  
Karen Kaiser Clark_

"You're being a real asshole."

Logan rolled over and looked at Duncan. "Am I supposed to be surprised by this? I know what I am." He rolled back over and tried to ignore Duncan so he could go back to sleep.

"Do you? Do you know who you are, Logan?" 

"What the fuck does it matter, Duncan?" he asked, mumbling into his pillow. 

There was a long silence, and he thought Duncan must have left. But then, he heard him speak. "I guess it doesn't matter that much, after all."

The slamming of the door made him start, and he rolled back over. "Huh. Wonder what's bothering him."

He tried to go back to sleep, but for some reason, he just couldn't slip back into unconsciousness. Something about the way Duncan had just left like that . . . it bothered him. The first thing to have bothered him in days. It was annoying, and he didn't like that. So he pulled himself out of bed and stumbled downstairs.

Duncan was standing by the toaster, and he walked past him and opened the fridge. "So you gonna tell me what exactly is up your ass today?" Logan asked, pulling out a carton of orange juice and taking a long drink. 

"I talked to Veronica last night."

"And how is Little Miss Detective?" He busied himself putting away the OJ and hopping up on a stool by the kitchen counter. 

"She told me she'd seen you. Was a bit confused, what with the insults and then the kissing."

Logan shrugged. "Should have been like deja vu for her. We insult each other, we kiss each other. QED."

"I guess I was thinking that things had changed a bit," Duncan said, taking the Pop Tarts out of the toaster and handing him one. 

"Decided it was better to stay with what I'm used to. Change is bad and should be viewed with suspicion," he quipped. 

Duncan nodded slowly. He ate the pastry in four large bites, then brushed off his hands. "I'll see you later, then." He started walking towards the door, then turned around and said, "It's too bad. I was enjoying having my best friend back."

He got up so quickly he knocked over his chair as he moved after Duncan. "What the fuck do you want, Duncan? I am so sick of you and your guilt trips--I have plenty to feel guilty about without you trying to make me feel worse so you can feel better. You asshole, you have EVERYTHING!"

Somehow, he'd managed to get his hand around Duncan's throat, his other hand drawn back, ready to throw the punch. A punch that wasn't aimed at Duncan, not really.

"If you want to hit me, do it. Come on. If it'll make you feel better, I want you to do it," Duncan said through clenched teeth.

For a moment, he felt like he was standing outside his body, looking at two strangers, caught in the middle of a violent moment. Then, he was looking at his best friend and wondering what the hell had happened to him. He let go of Duncan and moved away, too ashamed to look at him. 

Duncan coughed, then spoke, his voice raspy. "Logan, man, you're slipping away. We thought you were getting it together, but now you're just letting go. Stop being so damn scared. You can't bury yourself away. It won't bring back Lilly. It's not going to change what your father did." He took a big breath. "It's not going to get Veronica back."

Logan turned around, ready to make an appropriately snarky remark about how he didn't want Veronica at all. But suddenly, he found he didn't have the words. He opened and closed his hands a few times, feeling dizzy with emotion. His eyes fell on some strange little knickknack on a side table, something that he had seen every day for years. Before he knew what he was doing, he had thrown it through one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The glass probably made a lot of noise when it fell. But the screams in his head drowned out anything else. 

**August 6**   
_You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: When one door is shut, another opens.  
Miguel de Cervantes _

He stared out across the yard, watching the light bounce off the surface of the pool. After a moment, he turned to Weevil and Duncan. 

"Aaron's lawyers were here earlier today."

"What'd they say?" asked Weevil, leaning back in his chair.

"They want to sell the house. Need some cash to cover expenses. Looks like I'll be homeless by the end of the month." 

"What are you going to do?"

He shrugged. "Not sure. That's another thing the lawyers were talking about. I could get emancipated. I'd get access to the inheritance from my mom, so poof! Not homeless anymore. I suppose I could go live with Trina, if I had to."

"So what do you want to do?" asked Duncan.

Logan picked up his water bottle. "Funny you should ask. Lately, all I've been thinking about is what I want." He looked down at the bottle, absent-mindedly picking off the label. "Remember when you were a kid, and you thought you could get something just by wanting it hard enough?"

Both Duncan and Weevil looked confused, but they nodded. Logan went on. "My mom used to read these stories to me. And there was always this point in the story, where you said to yourself, 'There is no way this guy is going to make it. The witch is gonna eat them, the dragon is gonna kill them, something.' And I'd say that to my mom. And she'd always smile at me, and say, 'Sometimes, Logan, when the Lord closes a door, He opens a window.'" Logan looked up at them, and laughed a little. "I always thought that was stupid. 'Cause you'd think God would have a butler or someone to close the door, rather than having to do it himself. But now I get what she was saying."

"Which was?" Duncan said, his voice quiet.

"You never get exactly what you want. I wanted my mom back, I got Trina. I wanted Lilly back, I got Veronica. I didn't want my dad to be a part of my life, so he got sent to jail for murdering my girlfriend." He tilted the water bottle back up to his lips, then said, "How's that for opening a window?"

"So?" asked Weevil.

"I'm gonna leave."

"You sure about that, Logan?" Duncan asked, leaning forward. "I know things are bad now . . ."

Logan ignored Duncan's question. "I've got an aunt in New York. My mom's sister. She's pretty nice, from what I remember. I called her this morning and asked her if I could come stay with her, and she said yes."

"Seems a bit sudden to me," Weevil commented. "You want to leave with your tail between your legs?"

"I know you're just trying to piss me off, Weevil. I don't care. Like I had a bright and rosy future in Neptune. You thought Veronica was an outcast last year? Just imagine what everyone's gonna do to me."

"Man, you've lived here your whole life."

"So maybe it's time to move," Logan said. "Find a new crowd, forget about Aaron. Be normal."

Duncan and Weevil exchanged looks, before Weevil spoke. "When are you leaving?"

"Gonna fly out in two weeks. Get there in time for school."

"Jesus, Logan. You don't have to do this," Duncan insisted. 

"Yeah, I do," Logan said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to get started with packing and figuring out what things to put in storage."

He turned and headed down the hall to the front door, hearing Duncan and Weevil following him. Duncan left without saying anything, only giving him one of those confused looks that made him look like a Golden Retriever. Weevil walked out the door, then turned around and leaned close to Logan.

"Go see her. Tell her you're leaving. Don't be another person to vanish on   
her."

Logan stared at him, but Weevil didn't say anything more, merely walked down the driveway and roared away on his motorcycle.

**August 12**   
_You've reached Logan, and here's today's Inspirational Message: Courage is the price that Life exacts for granting peace.  
Amelia Earhart_

He stuck his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to another. He didn't really know why he was here, at this door. But then, maybe it was because standing out here symbolized so many decisions he had made. After all, the first time he stood here, he was choosing to believe that his mother wasn't really dead. This time, he chose to believe he would make it through all the turmoil. All the bad decisions and wrong turns. He was almost there, almost ready to put this last year behind him.

Almost.

When she opened the door, she didn't even seem that surprised. He stared at her, really looking at her for the first time in weeks. She looked tired, and a bit sad. He'd expected her to be peaceful and content now that Lilly's real killer had been caught. How had he not noticed last month how drained she looked?

Suddenly, he realized that neither of them had said anything yet. "Um, hey."

"You didn't have to do this. Duncan already told me you're leaving." She stood in the doorway, keeping one hand on the door while her other hand perched on her hip. 

"Well, actually, I kinda did have to see you," he said, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. What he should say. 

"Yeah? So why are you here?"

"Would you believe me if I said I just found myself on your doorstep?" He couldn't help smirking when she rolled her eyes. "Actually," he said, taking a step forward, "I've been told that I shouldn't slink away without telling you goodbye."

"So someone had to tell you that?" she said crisply. "Funny, I would have thought good manners would be one of those great advantages you got with your upbringing." Immediately, her stoic expression changed to an apologetic one.

He waved an arm in the air, as if to bat away her unspoken apology. "What can I say, my parents were lacking in some areas." She didn't say anything, and he rocked back and forth on his feet. "So can I come in, or do you want me to stand out here?"

"Oh, um--sure, I guess." 

He walked in and took a seat at the kitchen counter. She pulled out a stool and sat across from him. "So, off to New York, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah. My aunt's gonna let me use her name, so I won't get bothered too much by the press. At least not at first, I guess."

"When do you leave?"

"In a week." 

"So you're okay with going to New York?" she asked.

"Yeah, I am. I mean, it's not like I have much of a choice: my aunt or Trina."

"So you don't care that it seems like you're running away?"

He shrugged. "People will think what they want. But I'll be far, far away."

"Huh." 

She seemed way too nonchalant to him. Like she was forming some diabolical plan inside that crafty brain of hers. A plan involving him. And he didn't want that. Really, he didn't. So he relied on the old standby: changing the subject. "Hey, what's with you?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking confused.

"I mean, there's zombies who are more lively, V." Her eyes narrowed, but he plowed ahead, glad that the soft look was gone from her face. "You've got huge bags under your eyes, your hair is all ratty . . . what gives? I would have thought that finding Lilly's killer would make for a happy, content Veronica."

"I thought so, too," she said in a quiet little voice. "I knew that it wouldn't make everything better. I hate myself for saying this, but I thought I'd have closure. But I don't."

He took a long look at her. For a few crazy weeks, he had felt like he could almost fall for Veronica Mars. He didn't know if he still felt the same way, but that didn't mean that he wanted to forget the way they'd become . . . well, some kind of friends. He reached over and placed a hand on top of hers. "Are you having nightmares?"

She nodded, not looking up at him. He frowned. "Have you talked to anybody about them?"

She shrugged. "Not exactly."

"That day I kissed you? You wanna know why I did it?"

Veronica pushed her hair out of her eyes. In doing so, her hand slipped away from his. "I'll probably regret this, but why?"

"'Cause even I saw that something was wrong with you. You weren't being Veronica. So I thought kissing you would make you mad."

Her lips quirked. "It did."

"Yeah," he said. "Sorry about that."

A silence fell between them, one that seemed full of unsaid concerns and angry remarks. He rubbed his finger back and forth across the counter and wondered again why he had come to see her tonight.

"I think it's time for tit for tat," she announced in a decided voice. "And before you ask, there will be no determination of who's tat and who's tit."

"Curses, foiled again," he said, shooting a small smile at her. She didn't seem to be in a laughing mood, though: her face remained serious, resolved.

"Why are you leaving?"

He looked at her, knowing his expression must be incredulous. "Did you knock your head at some point recently? I would have thought my father killing Lilly--my ex-girlfriend--is a great reason to leave town."

"That's just the justification. Face it, Logan--you're scared. Last year was a cakewalk compared to what this year's going to be. And you don't want to deal with it, so you're gonna run. Because you were too scared to kill yourself, but you're too scared to live."

Logan stared at her, not believing she was saying this. "Where the hell do you get off saying that? Like you're some expert on me." He got up and started pacing around, trying to burn off some energy instead of throttling her.

"Not on you, not really. Just an expert on hiding," she said, crossing her arms across her chest. "The funny thing is, you think you can hide. You can change your look, get new friends, do new things. But you can't run from yourself."

"Let me guess, the summer's been slow so you've been passing the time with Dr. Phil?" he asked grumpily. "Just tell me what you really think, so I can get the hell out of here." He dropped his head, and braced his arms against the counter. "God, I don't know why I came here tonight," he muttered.

Veronica uncrossed her arms and leaned forward. "You came because you wanted me to convince you to stay."

His head jerked up in surprise, finding her face inches from his. He took a step back. 

Oh, Christ. She was right. Their crazy, fucked-up "relationship" had come to this. He wanted her to want him to stay.

He hazily thought that his face was giving away everything he was feeling. And he noticed that she held herself rigid, like she was waiting for an answer, an answer that she wasn't prepared for.

Funny, this was the Veronica he remembered: pushy, no holds barred, and too damn smart for her own good. 

"If I wanted you to convince me to stay . . ." he shook his head, confused. "Why the hell would I do that?"

She didn't say anything. He wondered what she was thinking, what she was feeling. He didn't want to look at her. He knew that something was happening here, and he was scared--all right, he could admit it. He was scared of what her answer would be.

When she spoke, his eyes immediately locked onto her face. "Because you want to be yourself again. Just like I want to be me again."

"What, you mean go back to the old days?" he asked.

"No--I don't want to be like we were a year ago, or even three months ago," she said. "I mean, I want to be . . . well, I don't know if happy is possible. But I'd like to be content--satisfied with my life, you know? And I think that's what you want, too."

He sucked in a breath, unsure if he was hearing her right. "So, what? For both of us to be well-adjusted young adults, I'd have to stay?"

She looked at him, and although her face was stoic, he couldn't help thinking that it was just a mask. "Maybe."

A silence fell over the kitchen again, even more tense than before. He kept pacing, trying to get everything straight in his head. It was like a giant puzzle, and he was missing the four corner pieces--he knew what he was looking at, but there was this nagging feeling of something missing. And suddenly, things fell into place. 

He quickly crossed over to the counter. "Veronica?" he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her upright. 

"Yeah, Logan?" she said, her face confused.

"I've barely left my house all summer--I think this is only the third time I've gone anywhere this summer. And I spent the whole time inside my head, trying to figure out who I was. Because the world was telling me a bunch of different things about me, and I didn't like any of them. So I just wanted to get away. But you've made me change my mind. So you know what I want to say to the world?"

"What?" she asked, her voice a little breathless.

He grinned at her. "Fuck you. I'm staying." 

Before she could say anything, he quickly wrapped her in a hug, squeezing her tightly. He felt her wrap her arms around him and hug him back, and it felt good. It wasn't romantic. It was more like two close friends, friends that had shared a life-changing experience and were clinging to each other. 

Maybe someday, they could be together. And this time around, they'd know enough to do things differently. Well, except for making out in the girl's bathroom--that was hot, he thought to himself. But for now, he suspected that having Veronica Mars as his friend would be pretty damn good.

After a few moments, they pulled away at the same time. She grinned up at him, through she looked a little teary. "I'm glad, Logan. Really." She made a face. "Although I'm sure I'll regret it at times."

"Oh, come on--you'd miss me if I left," he said with a grin. He leaned against the counter, giving them both some space. "I am, too. Funny, isn't it? I'm condemning myself to a life of teenage hell."

"Luckily for you, I also happen to be an expert on being a social outcast," she quipped.

He smiled at her. "What's your rate for lessons?"

She returned his smile, something that he hadn't seen her do very often in the past year. "Friends get the special rate of nothing down, no monthly payments, and a zero interest rate."

"Damn, V, I'll have to get a loan then--will you take an IOU?"

She laughed, and he laughed too, and it was stupid and not funny at all, but that was all right. He didn't have to be funny all the time, or a jackass, or sweet boyfriend or wounded child.

He could just be himself. No inspirational message needed.

End.


End file.
